


A Madness Most Discreet

by UseYourDelusion



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Slow Build, Slow Romance, lots of fluff and inner monologues, there will be porn eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:52:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UseYourDelusion/pseuds/UseYourDelusion
Summary: Of all the other mercs, Medic intrigued him the most. Was he a genius or a madman? Could he be trusted at all? What did he hide about his past? And why is Sniper attracted to the German so much?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of all the other mercs, Medic intrigued him the most. Was he a genius or a madman? Could he be trusted at all? What did he hide about his past? And why is Sniper attracted to the German so much?

The pain did not come unannounced. At first, there were flickering lights and lines in Mick’s eyes, but he didn’t pay attention to them, simply cussed under his breath and went back to aiming his rifle. He could do it, he could persevere.

Or at least, he thought so. The pain did not agree.

It built up slowly in the left part of his head. He could almost visualize it growing steadily bigger and bigger, entangling his brain in its web lobe by lobe, until half of it is on fire and everything in his head screamed at him to get away, find some dark silent cave and hide. Every shotgun blast, every shot from Heavy’s mini-gun, just about every noise on the battlefield made it worse, as if a sharp rock flied around inside his skull, bouncing off of its walls and tearing through brain tissue. For the first time since forever, Mick missed. He missed a lot.

And when he misses, they lose.

“You gotta be kiddin’”, Scout threw his bat on the floor of the Respawn room. “We haven’t lost to BLU in forever! Man, this sucks. And nice job protecting us, knucklehead”, he turned to Mick, pointing his finger at the taller man.  
“Sorry, mate”, the Australian shrugged, half of his brain still on fire. “Tried to do my best. With a headache, that is”.  
“Oh, so you have a headache, big freakin’ deal. Go to Medic, take some pills and stop whining”.  
Mick sighed.  
“I guess I’ll have to”.

He knew there wasn’t much else he could do now. He had to get rid of the headache, he knew that, yet the thought of going to see the German doctor didn’t seem pleasant to him, not even now. Of all the other mercs, Medic disturbed him the most. Sure, there always was Pyro, but Pyro seemed to be completely insane, with any shred of connection to reality long gone. The doctor, on the other hand, alternated between being serious, realistic and calm for one moment and stark raving mad couple of seconds later. The wide grin he gave everybody at the breakfast table, along with perpetually cheerful “Guten Morgen”, his ecstatic cries and maniacal laughter at the battlefield never failed to send shivers down Mick’s back (and not the good kind of shivers, mind you). But when he was working alone in his study and talking to his pigeons, or running some experiments with Engineer, Medic looked almost sane, almost... normal. Yet there was always a spark in those icy blue eyes behind the shining lenses of his glasses, and Mick was not sure just what it was. Was it a spark of insanity? Or genius, or maybe both? Or maybe something else, completely different? Mick did not know.

To say that Medic intrigued him would be understating it. So maybe this was a chance to… get to know him better, Mick thought, but the thought came out wrong. He wasn’t interested in the German, not at all, not in this way, at least. He just wanted to... figure him out. To have a plan to kill him, in case things went wrong. Who knew what was going in that brain, after all. And in order to have a perfect plan to kill someone, you need to know a lot about them, Mick learned that much in his years of working as an assassin. So this was gathering intel. Nothing more, nothing less, he said to himself, as he went inside the half-abandoned hospital where Medic lived and worked.

The sun outside was scorching, yet the air in the halls was cool. Mick walked to the door at the end of the hallway slowly, listening to the sound of his own steps echoing, mixing with cooing of the pigeons and the thumping of his own heart.

He did not know why it started to beat so fast all of a sudden.

The door to Medic’s study was right in front of him. The shiny sign on it simply said “Medic”, rather unhelpfully reminding Mick that he knew nothing about the German, not even if he was a real doctor. Sure, he had the Medi-gun and all, but that thing probably didn’t cure headaches, and that was all Mick wanted right now. Maybe, he thought, the doctor had some pills. Or, more likely, he had some crazy device that didn’t work exactly as intended (as far as Mick could make out from what Engie said, that seemed to be a recurring theme with Medic’s inventions).

There was only one way to find out.

“Ah, guten Tag, Herr Sniper! What brings you to my humble abode?” Medic said, as always, with a smile. “Please, sit down”.  
Usually Mick tried to stay at a certain distance from the German, just to be safe, but there was no place for that now. Medic was sitting right in front of him, and the desk between them wasn’t all that big. Now Mick could see that Medic’s eyes were blue with just a hint of gray — a colour that reminded him more of cold, unyielding steel rather that soft summer skies. But right now, up close, the older man — and Medic was older, if the grey at his temples was any indication — did not seem dangerous, just a bit unpredictable.  
“Just a little headache, you know. Ain't that bad, really”.  
It was best to downplay the whole thing, Mick thought. Who knows, maybe this guy still treats everything that’s not a gun wound with leeches.  
Yet the news of the headache made the Doctor’s smile even wider.  
“Ach so! And could you please describe this headache?”  
“It's… Uh, pulsating I guess, and… bloody terrible actually. Like someone puts needles in one part of your brain, ya know?”.  
“Fascinating! Proceed to the exam room, bitte”.

The exam room was darker and colder, with X-ray shots on the wall (in at least two of those, Mick could recognize his own chest with BLU Spy’s butterfly knife sticking out of it), a big metal refrigerator humming, and pigeons perched on window sills and lamps. In the middle of it, under a bright lamp, was a practice table.

“Now, lie down and let me see what I can do”.

Mick obliged, even though he did not like the blinding lights at all — it pierced his eyes and his brain, making the pain even worse. The Medic must have noticed that, because he moved the lamp a bit, and stood in front of it, so that his shadow fell on Mick’s face.

Mick closed his eyes. He smelled Medic’s cologne, spicy and just a little bit medicinal — a mixture of cloves, eucalyptus, artemisia and something else. Then he felt warmth and slight pressure of Medic’s fingertips at his temples. And then the fingertips started moving, the pressure changing ever so slightly.

At first Mick didn’t even realize what exactly was going on — the sensation was sudden and unexpectedly pleasant. Medic, meanwhile, continued massaging, this time with more force, and the headache was getting weaker. Mick smiled a little. Nobody touched him like that before. It felt good, and kept getting better with every second, with every touch and every wave of pleasure.

Then it suddenly stopped.

“So? How do you feel now, Herr Sniper?”  
“Um… good, actually… I mean, head ain't hurtin’ anymore”. He looked at Medic, hoping that the other man didn’t catch the slight disappointment in his voice. But the German was staring at his own hands, looking slightly surprised, as if he wasn’t sure that the treatment would actually work.  
“Wunderbar! I did not expect this method to be so effective!”  
“That’s… Great. Well, thanks,” Mick said, turning to the door.  
He was almost out of the exam room when a thought struck him.  
“Hey, Doc… What if this thing happens again?”  
The German shrugged. “Then I suppose you will have to visit me once more. I can’t have you running on a battlefield with a migraine, ja?”  
“Oh, okay then”, he said, before finally leaving.  
Visiting Medic once more… For some reason, he was fine with that. The massage was nice. Nobody touched him like that, with no intent to harm, in a while. And having it done to him again would be nice, Mick thought. Granted, he’d still prefer some sheila did it to him rather than a bloke, or at least some other bloke and not Medic, but it was nice nonetheless. And Medic turned out to be not so scary after all. At least today.

Maybe, Mick thought on the way back to his camper van, tomorrow won’t be that bad either.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Migraine is a cruel mistress, so Sniper is forced to see the Doctor once again. There's talk, laughter, and lots of awkwardness and uncertainty.

Next day, the pain did not come back. Mick expected it to return the day after, but that didn't happen either. Hey, maybe the Medic was a genius after all, he thought.

There was, however, a small problem. Not even a problem, Sniper thought, more of a quirk, really — whenever he saw Medic, he couldn't help but remember the head massage and how pleasant it was. And this, in turn, made him watch Medic much more closely than Mick usually did. It was helpful on the battlefield — whenever any BLU even tried to approach the Doctor, Mick took them down with a headshot. But otherwise, Mick wished he didn't have to stare at the German so much. Others were probably beginning to notice. He didn't want that for some reason.

Medic wasn't all that bad or scary, Mick knew that now. He could be polite. Friendly, even — and not fake-friendly. Sincerely friendly, and even ready to help. Like a real doctor would.

What Mick didn't realize during his first visit, but certainly noticed now was that the German was really, really _handsome_ . Mick rarely thought about other blokes in that way, and he couldn't exactly tell what he found attractive about Medic. Sure, he was muscular in _just the right way_ (not beefed up like Heavy, not too lean like Scout), and had a jawline to die for, but that alone couldn't be it, Mick thought. Maybe it was the old-fashioned suit, the steel-framed glasses, the weird accent, and a certain prissiness about him that made Medic stand out among the other mercs, like a relic from a different age. Something that was completely different from Mick himself, and thus, incredibly interesting. Or maybe it was just the overall mystery.

After all, Mick still didn't know that much about the Doctor. The only other guy on the team he knew even less about was Pyro. And Pyro… was simply too distant. Medic was different. Probably also prettier as well.

_Stop it, Mundy. You're gonna make a fool of yourself if you keep it up. It’s silly. It's distracting. It’s bloody unprofessional._

And yet, these foolish, improper, unprofessional thoughts bugged him for the rest of the week. They only receded when the headaches came back crawling on Friday, building up slowly, but steadily. This time, Mick persevered, missing just three times, and finding that sensitivity to even the smallest noises made it easier to notice BLU Spy creeping up on you. So it wasn’t all bad, but he decided to see Medic anyway.

This time, air in the hall leading to Medic’s office was warmer. The halls also weren't silent — someone was playing violin behind the closed door on the other end. 

Medic was standing by the window, facing the desert and the sunset outside, his chin resting on the violin.

“I’d no idea you were a musician,” Mick said when the melody was over.

Medic quickly turned to him.

“Oh, Herr Sniper! _Ich bitte Sie um Verzeihung_ … Please forgive me, I-I did not notice you come in.”

“That’s… that’s okay. You play really well.”

“Thank you, but I’m just an amateur,” the Doctor replied, putting the violin and the bow in the case.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t play well, does it?”

“I guess it does not,” Medic smiled. “But enough of _Geplauder_. Tell me, what brings you here? How is your head doing?”

“That’s what I wanted to tell you, Doc. I’m having the headaches again.”

“Then what are you waiting for? I will be more useful to you in the exam room, and I’m bothering you with useless talk!”

Mick’s first instinct was to argue, but he nodded and followed the German into the exam room. This time, even though it was much darker, Mick felt at ease here as he lay on the table and let Medic do his thing.

“So… how long you’ve been playing anyway?” He asked with his eyes closed, trying to get more comfortable. Medic had already began massaging his temples, sending those wonderful, wonderful sensations through his head.

“I started when I was a student in Stuttgart. That actually was quite some time ago.”

“Must’ve had a lot of practice, then.”

“Not really, no,” Medic said with a chuckle. “After I graduated, I didn't really have much time for… any sort of hobby, really. Anyway, that’s a whole another story, as our friend Engineer likes to say.”

He means the War, Mick thought. He was curious — very curious, in fact, given where Medic was from — but felt it was better not to ask.

For a moment he kept silent, simply enjoying the massage

“I play a bit meself,” he said finally to change topic a bit.

“Really? You play violin as well?”

“Nah, I play th’ saxophone. Started in high school. Thought it’d be easier to pick up girls that way.”

“Ach so! And did it work?”

Once again, he could hear the slight chuckle, and the warm tone of Medic’s voice gave out the fact that the older man was smiling.

“A little,” Mick said, opening his eyes and seeing that the Doctor indeed was smiling. His smile was… a bit weird, but still sort of endearing.

Medic kept massaging, and for a while, all Mick could feel we're waves of pleasure carrying him away from Teufort, away from trouble, away from everything bad in the world. The sensation reminded him of the way he used to swim on his back as a kid back in Australia — not really swimming even, just lying on your back in salty water and letting the ocean carry you. He remembered the staticky noise the water made when it got in your ears, the contrast of cool water and hot sun on his skin, the bitter taste of salt on his lips, and a distant noise of a crowded beach. He was safe now. Away from trouble, in the care of something — someone — who didn't want him to get hurt and wasn't going to let it happen. Mick wanted the sensation to go on forever. It lasted a bit longer, then stopped.

“Feeling better, Herr Sniper?”

Once again, Mick had to pause to hide his disappointment.

“Oh yeah, much better now. Thanks, Doc.”

As Mick sit up, a white dove with a red spot on its chest flew down and perched on his shoulder.

“Oh, hello there, little fella. Archimedes, isn’t it?” Mick asked, stroking the dove’s snow-white feathers.

“You can actually tell my doves apart! How very perceptive.”

“Sure I do, Doc. Used to do some bird watching in school, know a bit or two ‘bout them. And Archimedes is pretty easy to spot. Usually the one with the most bloodstains.”

“Ha! That is true! He likes burrowing into patients’ chests,” Medic said in the same voice a proud parent would use to describe his baby’s first steps. “And he also seems to like you.”

“You think if I bring him some bird seed next time, he won't be burrowing into mine?

“Who knows! Maybe he’ll want to bathe in your blood and organs to show his gratitude.”

A burst of laughter rolled through the room, echoing off of walls and scaring the birds that flew into the air, a mere inch from the ceiling, and then slowly returned to the equipment and window sills they had been sitting on.

There was a little pause which made Mick uncomfortable, as if he didn't know what would happen next.

“Would you like some coffee, Herr Sniper?”

“Nah, mate, I gotta go. ‘S getting pretty dark outside. But thanks anyway.”

There it was again, this strange pause.

“G’bye, Doc.”

“ _Auf Wiedersehen_ , Herr Sniper.”

As he was about to open the door, he heard the German’s voice.

“Herr Sniper?”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t mind indulging my curiosity… Could you please take your saxophone with you next time you’re here?”

“Sure thing, mate. See ya.”

The sun outside had almost set, and the sky was beautiful, a perfect blue canvas covered with streaks of gold, orange, pink and red clouds; a chilly breeze was blowing through the desert, and the earth was giving away its heat to the cool air.

Mick smiled. The day turned out to be fine after all.

Well, apart from that headache of his, and those awkward pauses that started to plague his conversations with Medic.

Maybe he should've stayed for that coffee.

He wondered if Medic had meant anything more than simply coffee. Back home, you took a woman out for a dance and maybe some drinks, and then, when you dropped her off at her place, she'd ask if you wanted to come up for some coffee or tea, but, of course, it wasn't really beverage that was being offered. It simply was a polite way for a proper lady to say “Please, come inside and fuck my brains out” to a proper gentleman.

Maybe Medic had something similar on his mi—…

_Oh, stop it, you bloody idiot_ , Mick said to himself. It's _Medic_ , the crazy German doctor who probably only really likes birds, and that's it. He didn't seem to be the bloke with a lot of feelings. And he also didn't seem to be well-versed in delicate matters of hints, innuendos, and other social intricacies. It rarely mattered here — other mercs either cared little about politeness and tact or knew even less about them than Medic. But in the real world jokes about losing his medical license and inability to read people's faces must've cost the German dearly more than once.

Mick took the last cigarette out of the pack, lit it, inhaled the smoke, sighed. He knew what it was like being the odd one out. In the country of muscular, stocky and extraverted Australians he was the lanky kid who mostly kept to himself. A freak of nature. A weirdo almost nobody liked. Not that Mick cared. He learned to watch people the way he watched birds. Carefully, silently, from a distance. He recognized the changes in people's faces and emotions that caused them. Curiosity. Jealousy. Rage. Fear. Attraction. It helped him a lot later — he himself might not be that emotional, but for the most part he learned he could pass as completely normal. A little bit aloof, maybe, but it turned out many sheilas were very much into tall, aloof blokes like him.

Medic, on the other hand, seemed to be one of those blokes who managed to be incredibly smart and amazingly dense at the same time. Mick watched him long enough to know that Doctor invented things that turned modern medicine upside down, but didn't get simplest hints, and was terrible when it came to anything non-verbal. He sure was attractive, Mick had to admit, in a “hot librarian” kind of way — at least if you liked your librarians male, in their late forties and with exotic accents. Somebody somewhere sure was crazy for those steel-grey eyes, but then again, Medic probably didn't even notice.

_Here we go again, calling him attractive. Nothing good will ever come out of this, mate. So you better stop now._

Mick crushed the empty cigarette pack, threw it away, and went inside his camper van. For the first time in years it seemed small and lonely to him. There was a six-pack in the mini-fridge and a girlie magazine tucked under the mattress, but they didn't seem appealing. Something was missing.

Maybe the next day will be better, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... if you're reading this then it means you didn't die of boredom. I'm really sorry for this and I don't know if I like how this chapter turned out, but I wanted both Sniper and Medic be emotionally reserved at start. So let me know how this turned out, if you want to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sniper learns what to do when you just can't get a certain doctor out of your head.
> 
> This one is rather short, and I apologize for it. I promise there'll be more quite soon though!

It was a strange feeling.

At first, Mick couldn't even tell what exactly was wrong. It wasn't the headaches. It wasn’t anything physically painful, but yet, he felt like something was different, and not in a good way. He couldn't establish exactly what it was, though, except for the feeling of something missing at the breakfast table. Mick looked around in search of the source of the problem.

There was Scout, filling his bowl to the brim with sugary cereal; Heavy, overloading on bacon and toast and butter, Spy and his coffee with a small croissant and a cigarette, Pyro drinking chocolate milk through a straw, Demo arguing with Soldier over who got to grab the last fried sausage and Engineer, enjoying pancakes with some syrup.

Sniper’s breakfast was always the same: some oatmeal, a toast with some Vegemite, and a big mug of coffee. Today he only wanted coffee.

Just as Mick sat next to Engie, he finally realized exactly what was wrong: Medic was not there. No cheerful “Guten Morgen”, no strange unfunny jokes about horrible malpractices, nothing. It was wrong. It _felt_ wrong. Suddenly, without Medic, everything started to seem dull and empty.

This realization made Mick’s heart stop for a moment.

“Hey, mate,” Mick turned to the Texan, trying his best to sound casual. “You know where the Doctor is?”  
“Saw him leaving the base with Miss Pauling. Why?” Engie said, chewing on a piece of bacon.  
“Head’s killin’ me,” Mick lied quickly. “Ran out of pills. You don't know when he’s comin’ back?”  
“Beats me,” Engie shrugged.  
Mick sighed, finished his coffee in one big gulp and went back to his van.

Why did he had to leave? Mick thought. Did something happen to Miss Pauling? Saxton Hale? The Administrator? Something so bad that they needed Medic’s help? Or what if they didn't need Medic anymore? What if they wanted to fire him?

For the second time today, Mick’s heart skipped a beat. A shiver ran down his spine.

_They wouldn't, he said to himself. The team needs a Medic._

But it doesn't have to be him. He's unpredictable. Unstable. His experiments are a constant financial drain. And now that he has created the Medi-gun, they don't need to keep him. Kick the German out, find some bloke who isn't batshit crazy, slap a white lab coat and the Medi-gun on him, and voila.

Mick took a fresh cigarette pack from the glovebox. He needed to calm the fuck down. They wouldn't fire Medic just because he's insane — you’d have to be simply to accept the job. Why was he worried about the German’s fate anyway?

_It's not like you like him, right, Mundy?_

Bloody hell no. He didn't like men. And even if he did — which he didn't, mind you, — we would not want to be with Medic. No matter how handsome the German might be, he’s just too dangerous to…

_Wait a minute, mate. Did you just call him handsome?_

Crazy. This whole thing was crazy. Like an obsession. Who knows, maybe madness is contagious. Maybe he caught it from staring at Medic too much. Hell, maybe he was going insane. He never felt like that before.

Mick turned the radio on, climbed on his bunk and took a newspaper with him. He needed something to distract him.

He spent five minutes staring at a newspaper and reading the same damn sentence before realizing this wasn't working. Mick signed and took the girlie mag from under the mattress.

He tried to think of the girl on the centerfold, her beautiful green eyes, her smile and her blond hair, her unbuttoned blouse and soft breasts underneath the silken fabric. That worked so well before, making him relax and forget the world outside.

Now, all he could see was Medic. Those grey eyes with a hint of a beautiful madness, the way he raised his eyebrow, the way he smiled… His handsome face and hair like blackened silver. Mick imagined laying in the operating table, and Medic giving him a massage. Only this time, the Doctor wasn't touching just his head. His strong hands were caressing Sniper’s neck and then shoulders, and, finally, slipped under his shirt. This thought was hot, much hotter than it had any right to be, and Mick felt a desperate urge to unzip his jeans, slide his hand under his briefs, and…

_You realize that's really not helping?_

He did. But maybe wanking off to this mental image was what he needed. Just a fantasy, right? No harm done.

_MUNDY. STOP. THIS. RIGHT. NOW._

He couldn't.

The girlie mag fell on the floor with a sad hissing thwap. In Mick’s imagination, the German unbuttoned his shirt, played with his nipples, brushed his belly, and unzipped his pants. Then the Doctor leaned forward with a hungry look in his eyes and a smirk that was almost predatory.

_“You’re really quite tense, Herr Sniper. Let me show you how to relax”._

Mick slicked his own hand with spit and started stroking himself. He thought about Medic’s steel-grey eyes looking up while those lips wrapped around his cock. Medic's hot mouth sliding up and down his shaft and tongue teasing the head. Those hands playing with his balls, tugging and squeezing ever so slightly. Mick kept going, ifist pumping faster and faster with every second. He kept thinking about Medic pleasuring him, taking him deep into his mouth, teasing him with his tongue, looking up with eyes full of desire. This was what Mick wanted all along. To be pleased. To feel loved. Not by anyone — but by this man that fascinated him so much.

Up, down, up, down. Mick’s finger were wrapped tightly around his cock, slick with saliva and precum. With each stroke the pleasure became stronger, until it was almost unbearable.

The orgasm was fast and powerful, making Mick arch his body and almost cry in relief. Sniper gave himself a few slow, lazy tugs, imagining Medic with his face — lips, hair and especially those small nerdy glasses — covered with hot sticky cum. He thought about kissing the Doctor, tasting himself on the older man’s tongue. That thought was so hot Sniper almost got hard again.

He lay on his bed, relaxed and spent, with a happy smile.

That was… that was… _BLOODY GOOD._

Yes. Yes it was.

Mick tugged himself back into his underwear and zipped his pants. He still felt incredibly lazy. It was time to go to the base though.

 _Just a few minutes_ , he said to himself, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, it was almost dark outside, and lights were shining inside Medic’s hospital. Without thinking, Sniper almost ran there, still feeling weak and awkward after his midday nap.

Medic was back. And it was all that mattered.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sniper is not the only one to feel all weird and lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to upload the next chapter sooner, but I absolutely had to insert Medic's POV. There's lots of gratuitous German ahead, so be warned

It was dark in the room, the only sources of light being a couple of monitors facing away from him and a small lamp. Medic couldn't say exactly how big the room was, but, judging from the way his steps echoed, it had to be spacious, and the Administrator’s table was far away, on the other side, her face lit by blueish screens.

Medic approached her carefully.

“Oh, it’s you”, she said when he was almost done, not bothering to look up from the newspaper she was reading.

“ _Guten Tag, Herrin Administratorin_.”

“Miss Pauling tells me you asked to be transferred to another team. Is it so, Doctor?”

She raised her head and looked at him the way a hawk looks at a lone rabbit.

“I… well… yes. That is so.”

“Your request is denied.”

“ _Herrin Administratorin_ , with all due respect, as you say… I would like to name my reasons, if I may…”

“You may not. I don't care about your reasons”.

Something in her voice changed, some new emotion mixing with the usual cold, metallic sound.

She continued, “If you’re here, it means you're failing at your job. It means you want to quit. I don't like quitters, Doctor”.

“That is not it. I feel like that would be better for my patients is all.”

The Administrator let out a chuckle and at him with a patronizing smirk.

“Please, Doctor,” she said, turning a newspaper page. “I have your reports from last week. You swapped Soldier’s temporal lobe with leftover chicken kiev. And then put the lobe back. And left the chicken kiev there.”

“Nobody even noticed! Not even Herr Soldier!”

“That is not the point. Everybody here is well aware of your medical practices. You don't even know what a Hippocratic oath is. So don't try to hide behind ethics.”

He caught a whiff of her perfume amid the waves of cigarette smoke. It was green and leathery and dry. _Jolie Madame_ . What a mismatch, he thought. Back in the day, in Stuttgart, he knew a woman that wore it, too. That woman happened to be his mother, and she was beautiful and sweet and kind, just the way the perfume was. But there was nothing _jolie_ about the Administrator.

“So… it would be impossible to make you change your mind?”

“Nobody makes me do anything. That's why I'm here”.

“I see. _Auf wiedersehen, Herrin Administratorin_.”

He turned away from her and started walking towards the exit.

“Check with Pauling,” she said, as if giving up. “If Sniper bothers you this much, kill him. Just let her find the replacement first.”

He stopped. _How did she…_ Must be the cameras.

“That does not help me at all,” he said.

“I know. But that's all I can do.”

He left without saying goodbye to her again.

 

“That was a very generous offer. You should have accepted,” Pauling said as they walked back to the car.

“What? _Nein, Fräulein Pauling_ , that offer was ridiculous. How can I accept it?”

“Snipers aren't that hard to come by. We’d get a new one in two weeks, tops.”

He didn't answer.

“You're thinking about it, right? If you agree, let me know. I have a few candidates that…”

She stopped mid-sentence as Medic took her by the shoulders, so that she was facing him.

“ _Fräulein Pauling_ , let me explain: when I say that something is unacceptable, that is it. I am not accepting it. This is final. Nobody shall touch Herr Sniper. And God forbid you act on your own. Or you shall see that there are worse people than your _die_ _Administratorin_.”

Pauling nodded.

 

“What is it with you and Sniper, anyway?”

That question came after a long pause, when they were riding back to the RED base, and the driver was messing with the car radio, among the white noise. His part of the car was separated by the thick glass, so he couldn't hear what was going on in the back.

Medic looked at Pauling. What could he answer? He did not know what she knew about him. She had to know _something_ — how he left Germany, at least. But she probably did not know about The Deal. And Medic was sure she knew nothing about Stuttgart… and Albrecht.

 

_Oh, that small apartment near Schillerplatz, that bed they shared — two young students too poor to afford two separate beds, much less two rooms. Those mornings when Medic woke up almost painfully hard and all he could think about was holding, touching, kissing the man lying next to him. Sometimes, when the winter colds were especially bitter, Medic would allow himself to move just a bit closer to the warm body under the cover. Or, in summer, when it was too hot to put anything on, he treated himself to a glance or two of Albrecht’s lithe nakedness. He never stared, never did or said anything even vaguely dirty. Albrecht would never understand, Medic knew that._

_Albrecht wasn't like him. He was a poet, a free spirit who liked women and parties and wine, and got along with almost everyone. Tall and slender, with somewhat unruly dark hair and terrible habits. Sometimes, when he did not get along, he got into fights — and it was Medic who dealt with the consequences, stitching up cuts and inspecting bruises. He didn't mind — that was his only chance to touch Albrecht, after all..._

 

“Obviously, you don't hate him enough to kill him,” Pauling kept chirping, “Which is weird — why even bother The Administrator for that? And if you're afraid of what you’ll do to him, why would you try to get him out of harm's way unless… unless you care for him, that is, and… Oh.”

She looked at Medic, shocked and disturbed.

“You like Sniper. In… _that_ way”, she uttered.

Medic shrugged.

“So?”

“You… like men? That… that wasn't in your dossier”.

He shrugged again.

“I like Herr Sniper”.

Immediately her hand reached for the car phone, but Medic was quicker, catching her wrist before she could grab the shiny plastic.

“The Administrator must know,” Pauling was still struggling with him and trying to break free from Medic’s grasp.

“Absolutely not!”

She wasn't about to give up.

“Do you even know how many rules you're breaking? In what troubles you're getting me? You’re all mercenaries. You're not supposed to like each other!”

Pauling almost managed to get the receiver, but in the last moment, Medic wrestled it away from her, and the thing was now lying on the floor, still attached to the colorful, spring-like cord. Medic grabbed young woman’s left wrist. Now, after the brief struggle, the upper button on her blouse was open, and he could see what had been hidden before: a blue and purple _Knutschfleck_ just above the delicate clavicle.

He looked at Pauling, then back to her love bite, studying it carefully.

“You really should not worry about me, Fräulein. _Ja_ , just as I thought. A bruise, quite fresh… oh, even with teeth marks. And a few older ones… Young Herr Scout must be quite… er… passionate”.

Pauling looked at him, her face red, her eyes alight with anger. She tried to push his hand away, only to find that Medic could have a steel grip when needed.

“This is none of your business, Doctor!”

“ _Tatsätlich_ ? I can make it mine, _Fräulein_. Just as you chose to make my private matters yours”.

“You. Are. In no position. To threaten me”. She tried to speak calmly, but her voice was seething.

“I think I am. Since you are threatening _me, Fräulein_ . I do not appreciate that. And I think that your _Administratorin_ would love to know what you and Herr Scout are up to. Just think about it… all those years you spent on your career… this carefully crafted façade of yours… all destroyed”.

Pauling blinked. He could see how pale she was becoming, how she realized that his threats were real.

“No,” she said. “You can't. You— you just can't…”.

She was panicking, her heart racing. A dove caught in a snare.

“I most certainly _can_ , Fräulein Pauling. But I shall keep my silence — if you keep yours, that is. We are both in a same position — too weak to resist _die Freuden des Fleisches._ Except you, of course, have much more to lose”.

“Very well”, she said finally, and he let her go.

The car kept rolling forward.

“You must think I’m horrible,” she said, staring at the desert outside.

Medic didn't look at her, either.

“Who am I to judge you?” He asked in response. “After all, Saxton Hale believes me to be subnormal. Mind you, that might very well be true. And I am an old pervert, as you are now aware”.

“I… I just feel so alone sometimes… and this… helps”, Pauling said.

Medic took his glasses off, breathed on them and started wiping the lenses with a kerchief.

“ _Ehrlich gesagt_ , you and your mating habits are of no interest to me, Fräulein Pauling. Take your prescription pills and don't try to threaten those who have nothing to lose. Human desperation is a force you most certainly do not want to unleash,” Medic put his glasses back on. “Oh, and next time Herr Scout gives you a bruise, come visit me. I shall zap you with a Medi-gun, and you will be like new in no time.”

Finally, the car stopped in front of the base.

“I’m sorry, Doctor”, Pauling said as he stepped out. “I shouldn't have done that.”

He turned around and saw that this time, Pauling looked directly at him.

“ _Akzeptiert._ ”

She nodded. Medic turned away and started walking to the base. The day was terrible, and the evening promised to be even worse.

 

Usually, Medic did not mind staying alone in his study — his work provided him with little time to feel lonely. But today was not a usual day. Nothing had happened the way he expected it to. Mostly because Pauling, unwittingly, had made him remember things he buried so deep in his memories, things he so desperately wished to forget.

 There was a knock on the door. _Must be Scout with something incredibly stupid_. He needed to ignore that.

“Hey, Doc! You there, mate?”

Medic had no choice but to let his visitor in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... yeah, here it is. We'll get back to Sniper (and his saxophone) in chapter five.
> 
> I also feel like I have tortured them both enough. At this point, I have a scene that might end both in kisses or in no kisses and more frustration. So tell me what would you like to see and how soon.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re back!” Mick hoped he didn't sound too happy as he entered Medic’s office almost without knocking.

“Ah,  _ guten Abend _ , Herr Sniper!”

Medic looked tired — five o’clock stubble, starch wearing off of his collar, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes much more prominent than usual.

“Rough day, huh?”, Mick asked, grateful that the doctor didn't know what “Herr Sniper” was up to in his absence.

“ _ Ja _ , you might say that. How are you holding up? No headaches?”

“Oh, I’m completely fine. Sorry for bothering you, Doc. Guess I have to g—.”

Just when Mick turned to the dark hallway, he felt Medic’s warm hand on his shoulder. The touch lasted no longer than a fracture of a second, but it was nice nonetheless.

“Herr Sniper. I don't want to tire you, but… could you please play some saxophone for me? I think some music would do me good”.

“Sure thing, mate. I’ll go to me van and fetch it then.”

 

When Mick opened the case back at Medic’s office, the brass of the saxophone shined under the light of the lamp, almost blinding him. Damn, it’s been a while since he played it last time. “Now, what music would you like to hear, Doctor?”

“It does not really matter. Play something that  _ you _ like, Herr Sniper”.

 

Mick smiled nervously as he took the instrument out of its case. He could feel his cheeks burning. Was he blushing?

 

“As you say, Doc. Just… I haven't got much chance to play it lately, so…”

“Oh, I am sure you will not disappoint me”, Medic smiled.

“Well… I’ll try”.

 

Mick could feel his lips trembling, his hands shaking.  _ Jesus bloody Christ, what’s wrong with you, mate? You’re a grown up bloke, not some kid on his first date.  _ He never got nervous like that before. Not when he shot his first target. Not even when one of his high school teachers learned that he played saxophone and made him perform in front of whole class. But then, his classmates weren't looking at him the way Medic was looking at him now. It was clear that the German expected something. And Mick simply couldn't disappoint him. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and started playing.

 

“ _ Fantastische! _ That was really good,” Medic said, applauding, when the music ended.

“You sure?”

“Of course, Herr Sniper. You should play more often”.

The German looked much better now — still somewhat tired, and older, but not as sad. He was smiling, and it was, for the most part, a genuinely warm, kind smile. Granted, it still looked a bit unnerving, but far from Medic’s usual psychotic grin.

“Glad you liked it, Doc,” Mick smiled as he put saxophone back in its case and looked at the door. 

 

It was time to go, but he didn't want to. There was something between him and Medic, this closeness and connection, a link that he didn't want to break just yet. A feeling that was just beginning to develop. Medic must've sensed it, too, as he stood up and took the case away from Mick, his fingertips brushing Sniper’s hand slightly. The touch was sudden, brief, and almost electrifying.

 

“There is no need to leave so soon. We can… talk, I can put on some records. Would you like some whiskey, per chance?”

Mick nodded. 

“Sure thing, mate”.

He actually needed that. He wasn’t as tense now as he had been this morning, but still, it was weird talking to Medic now, with all those dirty thoughts Mick had earlier. It was like when he had sex for the first time in high school — he knew he had done something dirty and terrible and was sure that everybody else could tell just by looking at him. He needed the alcohol to relax, to get this feeling out of his head.

 

He quickly glanced at Medic, wondering if the German had noticed something. Thankfully, now the Doctor seemed to be his usual self — and his usual self wasn’t that good about noticing others’ emotions. Or maybe he was too good at ignoring them.

 

“Here you are,” Medic turned on the the record player, put the old-fashioned glass before Mick and started filling it with amber liquid. “Would you like some ice?”

“Nah, thanks. I drink my booze straight”.

“Ah, just like me, then. No need to water down good spirit,  _ nicht wahr? _ ”

“Damn right, Doctor. We ain't kids”.

They both smiled as the room became filled with the smell of whiskey and the sounds of Duke Ellington and his band.

“Let's drink, then. To the power of music… and those who wield it!”

 

Mick finished his drink fast, almost in one gulp. He knew he wasn't supposed to; that usually, it was better to drink slowly and to get drunk slowly, but that wasn't what he wanted right now. Right now, he wanted to get smashed as quickly as possible; he wanted to feel that buzz, that sensation you get when your head is both heavy as lead and light as a feather, when jokes get way funnier and asking questions gets way easier. 

 

“Don't wanna be prying, Doctor,” Mick began tentatively, pouring more whiskey into the glasses, “but I just noticed you were away for the whole day long…”

The German smiled in response.

“Ah, that!” he said with a little laugh. “That… is just a little side project of mine. A new invention I’m testing”.

“What does it do? Is it a new Medi-gun?”

“Ah! It's… it's a surprise, Herr Sniper,” The German said with a nervous laugh. “You’ll see it when it's ready. Let's drink to that, by the way,” Medic said, pouring more liquid into the glasses and raising his.

 

“To the surprises! The pleasant ones, of course!”, he added with a smile, and Mick smiled in response. The Doctor seemed a bit nervous now, in the same way Mick was nervous only ten minutes ago, and for some reason, it was almost…  _ cute _ . This time, Mick drank slowly, savouring the whiskey and burn his mouth and lips and throat. It was a nice sensation, one he had almost forgot while living on the RED base. Most of his life now was either fighting or target practice. Moments like that — good music, good booze and good company — were rare, almost nonexistent. Suddenly Mick realized he desperately wanted this moment to last.

 

“Would you like to hear a poem, Herr Sniper?”

This was… unexpected. But in a good way, Mick thought, as he watch Medic rise from his chair.

 

_ I have cared and striven for everyone's sake, _

_ I have drank with the sorrow the sparkling wine; _

_ Now the night is here and the sky is awake _

_ And there's joy in this heart of mine _

 

“Sounds nice. Did you write it?”

“Oh, you're flattering me, Herr Sniper”, Medic smiled. “It is a work of a German poet, from Stuttgart, not mine. I learned it in school”.

“Still sounds nice, though”.

“I guess. Do you know any poetry?”

“Nah, mate, not much. I know The Beatles. They ain’t Aussie, but they’re from the Commonwealth, so they have to count. We’re not a nation of poets, anyway. More like a nation of scumbags”.

Medic smiled.

“Ah, you don't need to be too critical of your origin, Herr Sniper… besides, there’s a few of us here who could give you… how do you say that? A run for your money.”

Finally, Mick felt he was drunk enough.

“Hey, Doc, can I ask you something else?”

“Ah, of course. What is it, Herr Sniper?”

“I don't mean to offend you or anything… and I don't want to be rude, but…”

“Ah, I know that one!” Medic said with a strange smile. “You want to know if I was a Nazi!”

“How did you—”

“People always apologize a lot before this question. Honestly, I don’t know why they think that.”

“Well… you’re German, and you’re a Doctor, and… well, you are a bit insane. Just like in those movies you see at the drive-ins, you know.”

“Ha-ha! I guess so! But… to answer your question… no, I am not, in fact, a Nazi. I was supposed to be a field medic in the  _ Wehrmacht _ , but…”

 

Medic’s face grew somber.

“What happened to you, doc?”

“It may seem strange to you… I’m a man of science, Herr Sniper. I care little for big ideas, like  _ lebensraum _ for the Aryan people. I’d probably never be a perfect cog in Hitler’s  _ Reichsmaschine _ . I only care about scientific progress, and not what kind of blood runs in the veins of those who push it forward.”

“Not the best views to have in Nazi Germany,” Sniper noted.

“ _ Natürlich _ . But I didn't make a secret of my beliefs or experiments. I guess I was naive back then — and I was also quite young, just fresh out of medical school. “Anyway, what happened was that someone informed the Gestapo about me and told them that I worked against the Reich.”

“Gestapo?”

“The secret police, Herr Sniper. The ones that come knocking on your door at night and drag you away, never to be seen again. They came to me. They turned the house upside down, found some books by Jewish authors and to them, it was enough to declare me an enemy of the state. So they arrested me, but not before they made me watch my whole library burn.

“I was lucky. One of the officers in the local Gestapo had been my father's good friend. He didn't get me out, but he let me escape. I managed to get out of Germany, to France first and then to Spain and Portugal. And from there, I came here, to America. Where everyone thinks I’m a Nazi,” Medic laughed, but it came out sad and bitter.

“I’m very sorry, Doc.”

“What for, Herr Sniper? You weren't the one who imprisoned me and set my books on fire,  _ ja? _ ”

“‘S just… Can’t imagine what they’d do to you, Doc, if you didn’t run.”

The German’s face became even more somber.

“To be frank with you, Herr Sniper, I try not to think about it too much myself. I would have certainly been dead right now. The only question is — would they have taken me to one of those rooms in Hotel Silber to torture or sent me straight away to be shot at the Archivstraße?”

There was a heavy pause.

“But let us not dwell on the past too much,  _ ja _ ?” Medic was obviously trying to change the mood. “The only thing more pointless is to guess what would have happened.  _ Et ist wie et ist _ . What happened to me was terrible. But if it hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now, and I wouldn’t have met you.”

And there it was again, this slightly strange, electrified silence. Suddenly the older man was sitting closer to him, and Mick was too drunk to notice how the hell it happened. 

“Let's drink to that, then”, he said, raising his glass.

“Absolutely. To the fate that brought us… well, together”.

 

Medic’s voice was a bit high-pitched for a tall guy, but now there was this sudden drop in it, and Mick knew exactly what it meant. Or, at least, what it meant when you talked to  _ normal _ people. With Medic, you could never be really sure. But what if he was flirting? Or at least, trying to, in his own way?

Mick liked that idea. Maybe, just maybe, Medic wanted exactly the same thing he wanted. Right now, it certainly seemed that way.

“You also must have some… shadows from your past,  _ nicht wahr _ ?”

“Don’t we all, Doctor?”

“I guess so,” Medic smiled, slightly blushing. “I must admit I find your line of work quite… um, fascinating.”

_ Crikey _ , Medic  _ was _ flirting. The thought of it made Mick’s heart skip a beat and start beating like crazy immediately after that.

“Thanks, mate. I mean, I ain’t anything special. I’m just a guy with a gun. All of us are.”

“Ah, but there is certain  _ Genauigkeit _ … precision and grace to your line of work. A certain artistry, in fact.”

This time it was Mick’s turn to blush. Jesus bloody Christ, Medic was so endearing, almost adorable when he tried to flirt like that.

“Well, um, thanks, Doctor. Most blokes on the team usually don’t notice me. Unless I fail, that is.”

_ This is it. This is the moment. Don't blow it, Mundy. _

Their knees bumped into each other, but this time, Mick didn’t move his leg, letting it touch the Medic’s, feeling the body heat through the fabric. Medic didn't budge either.

“You almost never fail, though. You are extremely… efficient,” the German said.

 

He was so close that Mick could clearly see, even in the darkened room, that his lips were dry and his face was red from excitement. He could smell what remained of Medic’s cologne along with the smell of whiskey and almost felt the other man’s breath on his face. But the most important and beautiful thing were the German’s eyes. It was that hungry look, but it wasn't the predatory hunger that Sniper had imagined earlier. It was a look of desperation, a look of a bloke who sought contact and warmth rather than simple rooting, but had been denied them for so long. It was as if for years the German was forced to hide his desires behind a mask of a stoicism and discipline. But now a crack appeared on that veneer and real Medic could finally be seen.

“I like that”, the Doctor added, blushing even more.

 

And Mick knew instantly that words were useless here. All he could do — all he needed to do — was to lean just a little bit forward and kiss Medic.

 

For a moment or two Mick just pressed his lips against the other man’s, almost afraid to rush things too much, to scare him. The sensation was different from what he was used to. No sweet smell of perfume, no taste of lipstick or softness of powdered skin. With Medic, there was scent of cologne and whiskey and blood, the feeling of hot and dry lips, and stubbled cheek against his. It didn't took Mick long to realize he actually liked that difference, and wanted more. He opened his mouth slightly, letting his tongue brush along the older man’s lips, carefully probing, wondering what will come next.

 

Mick wouldn't have been surprised if the German had tried to push him away, to punch him in the face, to call him a schweinhund and kick him out. But that didn't happen. Something wonderful happened instead, as if someone had pressed the switch that made everything  _ good _ . Medic’s lips parted, his tongue softly brushing the other man's, as if… inviting him to go further. And go further Mick did, deepening the kiss. 

 

It was better than any fantasy he’d ever had. It all drove him a bit insane with desire: the smells,the warmth, the sensation of wet flesh sliding against wet flesh… Mick felt as if the blood inside him was boiling, the fire in his heart and his loins urging him for more. His left hand slid up Medic’s thigh. His right pulled the knot on the German’s silk tie, loosening it, letting Mick unbutton that high collar and…

 

“ _ Was soll das?  _ Herr Sniper… Just what do you think you’re doing?”

 

He’d never seen the doctor like that before. His face was neither frighteningly calm nor maniacally excited: right now, Medic’s cheeks were beet red, his eyes wide open, and his glasses a bit crooked to the right. He looked shocked, confused… and aroused, maybe? 

 

“I…  You… Just…” Words left Mick all at once. What went wrong? Was it his fault? He couldn’t understand it.

Suddenly, Medic’s face became resolved, stern and also, somehow, incredibly sad.

“Please, Herr Sniper… You should go… I beg of you...”, he said, rising from his seat and turning away from Mick.

“But… why? I can stay. I  _ want  _ to stay—”

“Please. Herr Sniper, trust me…”

“Dammit? Medic what the hell is wrong with you?”

When Medic turned around, his tie was fixed, collar properly buttened, and he was his usual stoic self.

“It’s best you leave, Herr Sniper.”

“ _ Fine _ ”.

 

Now it was Mick’s turn to face away from Medic and walk out in the cold desert night. He felt strange. Angry. Broken. More broken than ever before. What did he do wrong? Was he ever right? Mick looked up at the abandoned hospital. He could see a faint light in one of the windows. A piece of wall with shadows on it — probably pigeons flying around.

 

What Mick couldn’t see was Medic sitting at his desk, his face buried in his hands, muttering the same phrase again and again.

 

_ Verglib mir. _


End file.
